


Bumps (and Billboards) in the Road

by DandelionDrabbles (AnonymousDandelion)



Series: Dialogue Prompt Fills [9]
Category: Good Omens (Radio), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: ? for want of a better term, Angst, Angst dialogue prompt, Anxiety, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Communication, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Hopeful Ending, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Post-Canon, billboards, religious trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:02:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27591763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousDandelion/pseuds/DandelionDrabbles
Summary: Where are you going?Are you good enough forHEAVEN?The billboard is large, eye-catching, and effective. Aziraphale can't look away from it — and he can’t look away from the old fears and feelings suddenly,again,cluttering his consciousness.Not good enough, never good enough, never…(Angst dialogue prompt fill #3.)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Dialogue Prompt Fills [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1996120
Comments: 28
Kudos: 132
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens, Hurt Aziraphale





	Bumps (and Billboards) in the Road

**Author's Note:**

> I figured it was time for Aziraphale to have a turn with an angst prompt, after Crowley getting the last two.  
> See prompt in end notes.

**_Where are you going?_ ** **_  
_****_Are you good enough for_ ** **_  
_ ** ******_HEAVEN?_**

The billboard is large, eye-catching… and effective. Aziraphale sees it, looming at the side of the road, and he can’t look away.

It doesn’t matter that he _knows_ the organization whose phone number is printed below the text has a very flawed comprehension of the factors actually determining any given spirit’s ultimate destination. It doesn’t matter that he _knows_ the accompanying illustrations could hardly be more fanciful. It doesn’t matter that he _knows_ he should ignore it.

He still can’t look away. He can’t look away from the billboard, burning itself into his eyes, freezing itself into his brain — and he can’t look away from the old fears and feelings suddenly, _again_ , cluttering his consciousness.

_Not good enough, never good enough, never…_

Aziraphale is tired of this cycle. Invariably, whenever he dares think, hope, begin to believe he’s finally free, something — a song snippet, an American accent, a billboard — plunges him back into this vicious, endless cycle of guilt, memory, worry, guilt, memory, worry, guilt, memory, guilt, guilt, guilt…

The Bentley swerves, eliciting screeching brakes, honks, and expletives from surrounding traffic.[1] “Aziraphale? You okay there? Angel?”

That voice, and the concern in it, penetrates the mental blizzard enough that Aziraphale tears his gaze from the billboard — though the words remain imprinted in his mind’s eye.

“Hey. You alright?” Crowley asks again.

Aziraphale remembers to breathe, if shallowly. “Fine,” he manages.

Crowley stops the Bentley altogether, oblivious or indifferent to the resultant vehicular chaos, and surveys their surroundings. There’s a sharp inhale when he spots the billboard.

“ _Shit_ ,” says Crowley. Then, bluntly, “Not fine. You don’t have to be fine.”

Ah. Yes. After centuries of mandatory fineness, Aziraphale forgets that, sometimes. “Not fine,” he acknowledges.

Right there in the road, Crowley puts an arm around him.

“I don’t want to feel this way anymore,” Aziraphale says miserably. “It’s ridiculous _._ I’m not even… I don’t _miss_ Heaven.”

“But you feel like you should?” Crowley guesses.

“Not that, either. Only….” Aziraphale shakes his head. “I _don’t_ think I should miss it, not anymore. I don’t feel guilty. Or guilty about not feeling guilty. But…”

“But?” Crowley prompts, softly.

“Maybe guilty about not feeling guilty about not feeling guilty?” Aziraphale sighs. “I don’t know. I told you, it’s ridiculous.”

Crowley’s arm tightens. “Doesn’t sound ridiculous to me.”

“Hasn’t it been long enough?” Aziraphale pleads. “Shouldn’t I be over it by now?”

“You’re talking to someone who has nightmares about a six-thousand-year-old Fall,” Crowley points out. “Don’t think these things follow timetables.”

Aziraphale reaches out to return Crowley’s squeeze.

Eventually, Crowley exhales. “You’re _better_ than Heaven,” he says fiercely. “Infinitely better. And the only place we’re going is home. When you’re ready.”

“I think I’m ready now,” Aziraphale says, and means it. Not that the feelings are _gone_ — but Crowley’s voice and arm weaken the cycle, if not entirely breaking it.

And, yes, Aziraphale _will_ be fine. “Let’s go home.”

They go home.[2]

**Author's Note:**

> 1 Albeit, miraculously, no accidents.[return to text]
> 
> 2 But not before Crowley snaps his fingers. The sponsoring organization never does figure out who to blame for the fact that the phone number on every single one of their many billboards across the country was somehow misprinted to be the phone number for the “It Could Always Suck More” prank hotline.[return to text]
> 
> Prompt: "I don’t want to feel this way anymore."
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're so inclined, let me know your thoughts in the comment section. Be well, and be gentle with yourselves. <3


End file.
